


scissor pressed

by hackercatz (beherrscht)



Series: exploring your newfound relationship [2]
Category: Noblesse (Manhwa)
Genre: Blindfolds, Flashback Era (Noblesse), Handcuffs, Kinda, M/M, Master/Servant, Mind Control, Paralysis, Sensory Deprivation, Sleep Deprivation, Somnophilia, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beherrscht/pseuds/hackercatz
Summary: To Raizel's chagrin, Frankenstein is refusing to sleep.
Relationships: Frankenstein/Cadis Etrama di Raizel
Series: exploring your newfound relationship [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021200
Comments: 24
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [martie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/martie/gifts).



> for mar 💕 nothing will be able to undo the damage late noblesse inflicted on you but here have vampire porn that is hopefully passable? 
> 
> u don't need to read the first one to understand this one but u should because cock warming is sexy 
> 
> 'pressed by scissors' (가위에 눌리다) is a slang in korean that basically means sleep paralysis. it's often mentioned to have connections with the spiritual and all that and there are people who actually experience repressed memories during it. BUT here there's none of that here this is not even sleep paralysis lol it's just our favorite vampire cryptid's intervention. this isn't even proper somnophilia. wtf me you're a disgrace

Frankenstein had _not_ been joking when he had said that he will not sleep if it meant that he could not control the flow of his mental imagery to his Master, to Raizel's utter chagrin.

Raizel can see how the lack of rest is affecting the one he has laid his claim on; the little shivers when he leans forward to pour the tea, the blank out sessions he has in the middle of the day, the sheer exhaustion that flows from their bond. Yet whenever he questions his servant, he merely gives a hyper, a little crazed smile as if he's trying to _prove_ that he's fine. As if their souls aren't irrevocably linked together and Raizel can't see that he is lying so transparently that he may as well be the spiritual version of a see-through glass. 

He firmly draws the line when Frankenstein retains an injury while handling the pot, ending up scalding his whole hand in the moment of hesitation. _"It's nothing, really,"_ he'd brushed them away when Raizel had confronted him, _"it'll be fine in a day, Master. I heal faster than an ordinary human."_

Like that is the problem. He will only devolve further down, and it seemed that no amount of subtle hinting is enough to suggest his bonded to get his proper-needed rest. Raizel, tearing his eyes away from the window, begrudgingly turns his body to stare at the doorway where Frankenstein said he would return soon from, nearly an hour ago. As much as an hour is nothing more than a fleeting breath away to a noble, Frankenstein is a human; whatever he wished to bring would have hardly taken him ten minutes. 

Raizel nudges at him through the link they share, and when he does not receive a reply, he feels a sigh escape him. He takes soft steps towards the door, across the hallway and lets his feet take him to the corner of first floor where the makeshift kitchen lies. 

In the center of it all, Frankenstein is stirring something in the pot, his mind obviously elsewhere as his hands automatically carry out the menial task. There is smoke rising from within the metal, so Raizel first takes steps to kill the fire, then he wakes his servant from whatever trance he has fallen into.

"Master?" Frankenstein blinks awake from his haze when Raizel reaches for his hands, carefully detaching them from the wooden spoon he had been clutching. "When did you—" a glance down at the pot, "— _Ah_. It seems that I have messed up dinner. I will prepare again—"

"No, that is not necessary. We are going up," Raizel declares firmly, and Frankenstein nods obediently and without fight for once, letting Raizel take his elbow. 

Raizel, taking the silence as permission to move, maneuvers both of them towards the stairs then to Frankenstein's room rather than his own, to the latter's surprise. He twists open the door and leads the two of them through. 

Raizel presses Frankenstein back towards his bed until the back of his calves hit the wooden base of the bed and his legs give in, forcing him into a seating position. Looming down on him, Raizel dictates, "Frankenstein. You _need_ your rest." 

"I am _fine_ , Master," Frankenstein enunciates, but the words come out so slurred Raizel knows he does not need to convince the other man himself. 

Yet Frankenstein continues his ridiculous insistence at staying conscious that Raizel narrows his eyes. "This does not only concern me, Frankenstein. Ragar has told me how your reflexes have slowed down to a noticeable level in your spars lately."

"Ragar said _what_ now?" Frankenstein growls, and Raizel can see his hands curl from their place on the mattress. Purple sparks, freed from the tight bind, haphazardly fly in chaos. "Oh, he thinks I'm too _weak_ now? I'll see what he has to say about my _slow reflexes_ when I fuck him over with Dark Spear the next time we have a go at each other, that little fucking snitch—"

" _Frankenstein,_ " Raizel says with exasperation lacing his voice, snuffing out the power building up within him with a single word. 

With bull-headed obstinacy, Frankenstein shakes his head, his artful golden locks fluttering around and escaping their flawless state between chaos and order. "I will get my rest once today's errands are done with. You need not concern yourself with me, Master. Really." 

Raizel remembers the incident with the tea pot. He also knows how utterly adamant Frankenstein can be when he wishes to be—if he survives this day, he'll use it as an excuse to try another. "I can summon myself a cup of tea, Frankenstein. The mansion can stay standing without your intervention for one day."

Frankenstein frowns, obviously not wanting to disagree with his Master, but still nonetheless recalcitrant. With a blank, glassy look in his eyes, so different from the dazed look he adopts when Raizel allows him to drop down to his knees, Frankenstein opens his mouth and Raizel realizes he will not be winning this argument through conversation. 

" _Rest,_ " so Raizel commands him through the bond, with just enough force for it to be more than a mere suggestion, but not enough for it to _truly_ subjugate someone of Frankenstein's caliber. Thankfully, his contractor does not even attempt to fight back as he wordlessly loses consciousness and Raizel is there to catch him in his arms when he falls.

* * *

Considering that Frankenstein hasn't been getting his proper hours lately, Raizel expects him to sleep dreamlessly until his recovery. To a mix of amusement and morbid curiosity, he finds himself assaulted by the images that Frankenstein's over-imaginative mind provides nonetheless.

_"Master," Frankenstein groans, his voice hoarse and strained but his mouth split open in a huge grin. There are pieces of metal looped around his wrists, then a makeshift blindfold wrapped around his eyes. Sans the small strip of fabric effectively blinding him, he is completely naked—yet although he is unable to see, Frankenstein knows that his Master's piercing crimson eyes are upon his body, roaming around and inspecting his every minute movement._

Raizel takes a sip of tea, having returned to his room after tucking his human into the blankets. It is, as always, saturated with sugar to his liking, although it's cooled in his absence. It does not bother him, although it is a blatant reminder of Frankenstein's absence. 

_There is not even the birds chirping as Raizel carefully moves, silent as the wind. Frankenstein takes a bated breath in when the mattress around him dips, feeling the anticipatory flash of excitement travel through the neurons in his vertebrate. Stripped of all mobility, all he can do is sigh breathlessly when his Master dips his head down to lick down the taut curve of his neck._

Raizel takes yet another sip to find that the cup is empty, and so is the pot. Raizel frowns, about to materialize some into existence, but he's gotten so used to the taste of the tea Frankenstein prepares for him, and he doesn't want to be disappointed. He sighs. For millennia prior to this decade, he has survived centuries without Frankenstein's aid. He will survive one more day. Or two, considering how much sleep Frankenstein had missed with his confounding stubbornness. He will simply live without tea. 

_The teeth graze against his collar bone, a silent threat and promise of what he is capable. Yet, instead of fangs piercing flesh the lips travels down, choosing to lick and bite the plane offered in front of him so flagrantly, leaving behind faint marks that will barely last an hour with Frankenstein's regenerative abilities. Frankenstein doesn't mind, however; he'll have enough time to admire the work his Master has made upon his body, and no physical proof would ever be able to match up to the hold he has upon his soul. Oh, perhaps except a collar, a sleek black leather one, just tight enough for Frankenstein to feel it at each exhale—the thought of one makes him shudder hard._

Raizel places everything neatly on the tray that Frankenstein has prepared before standing up to take careful steps towards his one connection to the outside world—his window.

_When his Master takes his nipple into his mouth and sucks hard on them, he makes a low, grunting moan. The mouth detaches from the nub to quietly command, "silence, Frankenstein." And Frankenstein cuts off the sound like he's been gagged, even though the command has been one of words. It doesn't matter that it had been mere words aimed at his direction, as he's starved for any sense of command that would allow him to prove his loyalty._

It is a nice day.

_After the command for quiet, there are no words to be exchanged with their physical bodies, and only the sound of their synchronized breathing fills the air. Not that there are any meaning to physical words because the mind link between them has been flared open; but with another sense stolen by his gracious Master, Frankenstein feels utterly entrapped by his grand presence, his body traitorously morphed to become his own prison, yet he feels paradoxically freed because the only thing he is permitted to feel is Raizel. It's heady and glorious, and he thanks his Master through the link._

The sky is beautiful, with the right amount of cloud scattered between the blues.

_His Master offers nothing in reply, no words or emotions to clue Frankenstein with. It is fine, as this is the point of this game; to become utterly blind and senseless, allowing Master complete control over his everything. He can only hope that his Master is enjoying it all as much as he is. A gentle touch against his stomach, and he lets out a sigh, sinking back down as comfortably into the mattress as he can with his hands tied like this. A hand pinches the hardened nubs, the lips drag even lower, until it reaches his curls. Then those warm lips are on his head, and Frankenstein barely cuts off the choke as it comes._

He can hear some birds chirping.

_His mind is only static as the tongue presses into his slit and the mouth pops off. Maybe—his Master is curious about what Frankenstein does for him? Maybe he wants to find out how it feels himself? But he doesn't take it into his mouth, instead following a trail of precome down the shaft to reach the base, tongue pressing between the spot between his balls._

Raizel is...

_When his Master continues to move without any intention to pause, Frankenstein panics and immediately uses his contract-attained noble powers to clean himself out instantly. As he does, his Master's index finger—wet with oil which he must have also actualized—prods against his muscle, pressing in without much resistance all the way to the knuckle. Two, three, the fingers continue to stretch him loose while prodding around to find the spot inside of him. Frankenstein could come like this if he were to be prompted by his Master, but Frankenstein—being the greedy and obsessive and possessive human that he is—wants more. He wants to be properly taken, used for his Master's pleasure._

Raizel is—

_The touch leaves him as well as his Master's overwhelming presence around him, and he flinches alone in the darkness, wondering if he's done something wrong. Had his master—not enjoyed his thoughts? He shivers without even a shred of light until fingers take hold of his ass and his Master presses in, entire cock entering with a single thrust. Not wanting to disobey him and risk the chances of punishment, Frankenstein holds his tongue and instead moans into the link. Instead of establishing a rhythm, his Master pulls out until only the head is entering him to reorganizes Frankenstein's body, positioning his hip and torso appropriately so that it would not be painful, tilting his head so it'd stay comfortably on the pillows, organizing the fans of his hair just perfectly upon them. Frankenstein takes the time to carefully bring his legs around his Master's waist, the heel of his foot digging into the soft flesh of his Master's ass. He pauses when it is all finished and he feels his Master's breath against his collarbone, a silent threat—or a promise. It isn't something he considered, but now with that puff, he wants, the desire borderlining to need._

Raizel pauses as the imagery fades and he feels Frankenstein stirring from his much-needed sleep. He frowns, because Frankenstein had only slept four hours, and he knows that is not enough considering he has missed his sleep for a consecutive month. _Frankenstein_ , he grimaces, then frowns when he realizes he's accidentally spoken through the bond that is still perversely blown open between their minds.

_"Frankenstein," his master calls for him once before he kisses the nape of his neck and sinks his fangs down while thrusting into him, entering him both in body and soul. Bright bursts of light explodes behind his eyelids and he moans desperately, the groans coming out like an almost-sob. When a hand curls around his sensitive cock, it is only through his sheer force of will he does not spill all over his Master's hands—he hasn't been given permission. His mind fades away to a hazy blur as the pressure against his neck, prostate and cock all drive him higher and higher until he's floating, his own begging voice echoing so far away completely submerged in his Master—_

There is nothing more of the image, but the voice continues to echo in the wide expanse of Frankenstein's mind, and through the link, in Raizel's. _"Master, more, please, I want, 'I'm going to come, please let me come—"_

Raizel sighs, and turns from his view to reach for Frankenstein's room. It seems that some interventions are once again necessary. 

* * *

He doesn't know how to get all those items that had been adorned on Frankenstein's body within his fantasy excluding the blindfold in which the tie makes a nice substitute. Then he comes to the realization that he does not _need_ any, if the end goal is sensory deprivation.

With a scenario in mind and a goal to pursue, he slips into Frankenstein's room wordlessly, and carefully lays a hand upon his bonded's form. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Actual Sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (but also not really) 
> 
> sleep paralysis demon fic. i also forgot how to write so sorry about that

When Frankenstein comes to consciousness, he can't _see_. Or feel. Or move. All his senses stolen, all his autonomy stripped from him. He panics—because even if this is some distorted, disturbing form of blind sleep paralysis, he won't enjoy _that_ with Dark Spear coexisting alongside his soul—but only until he feels his Master's presence pressing against him, silently assuring him through his presence. Deprived of all and every other senses like this, he's overwhelmed in its warmth that he chokes, and muffled by it, he sinks down into tranquility and quiet that only comes from serving Raizel. If his Master is here, he is protected. He is safe.

 _Master?_ He tries enquiring through the connection they share, but the words do not reach him and instead echo back. Finding it odd, he feels the connection between them to see that their bond is still there; merely, it is stretched to infinity so any words or thoughts would not reach the other.

Then he feels a palm of the hand brushing against his cock, and with that burst of realization he notices abruptly that he can _feel_ again—the solid mattress against his back, the fluffy pillow propped against his head, and the silk bedsheets brushing on his nude body. The sudden sensations cause Frankenstein's analytical mind to freeze and shut down; and all attempts of trying to analyze how he got into this situation is abandoned as he moans. Tries, anyways, because he still does not have control of his own vocal cords.

His cock is _already achingly hard_. He doesn't know if it's just normal morning wood, or if it's something else, then when his Master lightly brushes the back of his hands against the shaft he decides, no, it's _definitely_ something else. His heart palpitates as if it wants to smash out of the ribcage. He wants to twist and rub until he spills himself all over the sheets, but he knows that isn't allowed; so he doesn't try anything, just sits there with immeasurable need to orgasm, every single feeling like he's on chastity.

Then his Master's mouth is on him, and he can't _fucking think_.

Raizel's mouth is sloppy and unexperienced, his teeth grazing the firm skin as he moves, his _fangs_ coming to contact with the sensitive flesh. Acute pain shoots up Frankenstein's spine every time his Master moves and unknowingly drags his dentures on his cock, as well as intense, perverted pleasure. Raizel's lack of finesse with oral is to be expected, since he's never had sex with anyone other than Frankenstein before, but the masochistic pleasure that goes right to his cock is new; fuck, is it normal to get off to the threat of having your cock ripped off you? Or perhaps it is the concept of blood drinking that fascinates him—his Master sinking down his fangs into him, taking what he wants without any inhibition, letting his powers envelop Frankenstein whole. His cock jumps within his Master's hold, earning an amused breathy huff against the hot flesh.

Frankenstein reaches his peak embarrassingly quick and the moment he thinks he is going to peak, his Master immediately freezes. As if Raizel can detect how close Frankenstein has been to losing his adamantian self-control, the mouth concludes the work with a single kiss to the slit. He groans when the contact leaves his sensitive head and instead kisses its way upwards, moving to the wide, unmarked planes instead.

He's quite not sure what is happening, what elected his Master to do something like this, not that he is in any way objecting to anything that's happening. Forced to be passive in his body he has no way to know that this isn't some hazy, wistful dream dream—some hyper realistic fantasy brought to life by his imagination—but what he feels, the press of his Master's fingers against his hips just on the edge of hurting him, seems far more than what he could imagine up.

He supposes he could figure it out if he managed to tug at the jumble of unprocessed memories in the recess of his mind, but between the sleep-deprived migraine and the pressure of Raizel's power against his soul, he simply cannot focus on anything else but the press of those lips curled against the soft skin of his hips, and the euphoria that takes over him when his Master's fangs nip against the soft skin where thigh meets stomach, so close to his arteries.

His Master travels upwards, and Frankenstein is only able to know through the slight creak in the mattress and the warm puff of breath against his skin. Raizel seldom kisses his fainted-white scars gently as he continues to drag his mouth, and tenderly encased in his Master's infinite powers in the mind and his body in physicality, he feels not only protected, but also _worshipped_.

By the time the lips reach his nipples, his hardness has faded to a placid throb between his legs, barely registering in his mind. Of course, the peace only lasts until his Master takes it between his teeth and _bites_. Not enough to rip it off, not even enough to draw blood from Frankenstein's modified body, but certainly enough to elicit pain from his sensitive body, and for his hardness to renew itself again.

Frankenstein is glad that his Master has taken away his ability to speak, because he knows himself and his body well enough to know that he would have made an embarrassing noise in a delirious haze. When Raizel licks around the sensitive bump, he moans frantically in want.

He wishes to praise. He desires for his sight—to see his Master sprawled on his body, pleasuring Frankenstein freely as he sees fit. He craves so much, but he is forbidden from enacting on any of his fantasies by Raizel's infinite power, and all Frankenstein can do is submit to his whims. Let his Master take whatever he wishes for, then hope that his Master allows him to find pleasure in the process too. His breathing thins out as his Master, pleased with his work with one of the nubs, moves to the other one, and he realizes that even his respiration is under strict regulation by the thrum of power against his throat and mind.

The realization sends him straight to the deep end—if he hadn't been under all along, he certainly is _now_. Even the sound of his shallow breathing—at least what's left of it, as it is slowly being crushed out of him—becomes fuzzy and distant, the pain of his Master's teeth just being enough to keep him grounded to reality and restraining him from falling into complete dissociation.

He has absolutely no control here.

It's _breathtaking_.

He can feel his Master at the peripheral edges of their merged consciousness, peeking into his soul to make sure Frankenstein is enjoying what Raizel is offering. Oh, and Frankenstein is enjoying every second; into the link he moans unrepentantly, hoping that the hopelessly adoring emotion he feels for Raizel is loud for his Master to catch. His Master grazes his teeth gently against Frankenstein's collarbone, his attention fixed thoroughly on Frankenstein's reaction. His breath fans over his pale skin, offering a puff of warmth on Frankenstein's skin.

Keeping himself coherent is a difficult feat with his mind so deep in subspace, and he trips over words even in his own mind. _Yes Master masteryes please pleaseMasterplease,_ he begs unashamedly, unable to press those fangs to break his skin himself because of his nonexistent control over his body.

 _"Are you sure?"_ His Master properly opens the link to ask, and all Frankenstein can do is whimper at the sensations of his Master's fangs right against his cervix and his cockhead propped against his clean—When has it been cleaned? Has he done this, or Master? he can't remember—and slicked entrance. _"I do not wish to do anything to you that you do not want, Frankenstein."_

Should Frankenstein be making a decision in his current state? No, probably not. Was he going to let this chance pass by, lest it never return? Fucking _hell no_. He's fantasized for something like this for a few months straight to know that he really wants this despite his condition anyways—his Master taking complete control of him, pressing him down and completely overtaking him, _owning him_ as how he's thought contracts worked before coming to Lukedonia. They've been alarming the first few times he has had them—because he thought it had to be some twisted noble mind control to keep him obedient and domesticated—but once he realized these dreams were born because he trusted, truly trusted his Master, the terror eased and in its place entered only the endless desire. The way his Master waits for his reply makes his heart constraint because he is so thoroughly affirmed that he has placed his soul in the right hands.

His Master cares so much for him. For something like _him_. Frankenstein doesn't ever feel deserving, but hell if he would ever let it go. _Yes, please, take me, use me, never let go,_ Frankenstein begs through the link, right into Raizel's mind. _Tear me apart to pieces and build me up again to however you may see fit. Make use of me for your own pleasures, as I wholly belong to you, my Lord. My Master._

 _"Frankenstein,"_ his Master speaks of his name with such fondness and adoration that Frankenstein melts, but that thought only lasts for a second because soon after his Master's sharp fangs tear through the flesh easily to draw blood from his collar, and simultaneously his cock presses into Frankenstein's body.

The moment his blood is smeared all over his Master's mouth the distance between their soul converges to none—so close he can no longer even feel Dark Spear, that is etched to the very threads of his psyche—and Frankenstein goes from only being able to feel Master's to being suffocated by his very existence, to the point he has to keep who he is at the forefront of his mind to not be drowned in his omnipresence. At caution brushing against his mind, Frankenstein steadies himself and curls up to Raizel in spirit. " _I'm alright,_ " he eagerly replies, letting him know just how much he's enjoying all he's doing for him. " _Master..._ "

" _Frankenstein,_ " he echoes breathlessly, like he can't help himself, like it's out of his adamantine control. Through the embedded fangs, he takes another deep drink as he shifts his hips to drag his cockhead right across Frankenstein's prostate with such inerrant accuracy that he finds himself wondering just _how many_ of his dreams his Master has witnessed.

From the way how Master's physical physical body freezes for a piece of a second and the muted exhaustion he feels through the link is more telling than any other physical evidence, but before he can press on it, his Master reassures him with a gentle hum. _I do not mind the dreams. I, however, am concerned that you are taking less care of yourself._

Before he can retort, his Master properly takes hold of his hair and pulls himself and back in briskly, an obvious ploy to distract Frankenstein from his thoughts—and because it is Master, it works as intended, Frankenstein losing grip on his rumination to moan unrepentantly into their link once again. _Focus on this_ , Raizel commands as he licks around the inflicted wound, less an attempt to close it and more something to lick off the rest of the blood that's trailed down Frankenstein's collarbone, drawing their souls even further together—blurring the lines on senses, Frankenstein hazily realizes, when he feels a phantom tightness around his own cock, of _himself_.

 _Master, Master, I can't_ —he stumbles on his words in his own mind, too lost in ecstasy to keep himself coherent. _Please let me come_ , he begs, his cock twitching, tightening as exquisitely as he can around Raizel's in a desperate attempt to bring him to climax alongside him. _Please_ —

Raizel's reply is a tender kiss once to the wound, then to his lips. Frankenstein tastes the bitter tang of metal and copper there, of his own blood and life. When Raizel fucks in once roughly with a shudder, Frankenstein comes with an exhausted shiver, and his Master follows right suit, splashing his walls with viscous come.

It takes a second to remember how to breathe, then his Master brushes the hair out of his eyes, flicking his eyes open—and Frankenstein realizes he can _see_ now. When Raizel brushes his lips to Frankenstein's forehead and then pulls himself away, he knows that his Master is no longer exerting any form of pressure upon his body or soul.

"Ohhh, fuck," Frankenstein groans hoarsely when Raizel finally returns him the control of his functions. "Oh, fuck, Master, _fuck_." Then he promptly passes out once more, his consciousness snapping away like a movie that ran out of film.

Raizel looks down at the unconscious heap under him, and gives himself a pat on the back for a good job done. Then he goes for the towel.

* * *

This time, Frankenstein slips into a state of dreamless coma and does not wake for an acceptable two days, to Raizel's utter satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> "why is raizel trying to bang him to make him sleep" look all his experiences with sex was that franken got sleepy after he spent such a long time sucking him off, so he made that connection. or something. do you think i have braincells this is a pwp


End file.
